


The five years of sunny darkness

by Thisisjustadream (BlackMorc)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Noctis is gone, Not Happy, Post-Game(s), bad coping, but I felt like writing this, but maybe hopeful, emo?, i don't care, i'm not a writer, that tag hurts, unable to move on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 17:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMorc/pseuds/Thisisjustadream
Summary: The first five years after losing the most important thing; Noctis.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	The five years of sunny darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Nope, not emo at all. And definitely not me trying to cope. Some of the music that I feel really fit is 'World so cold' by 12 Stones, and 'Would it matter' by Skillet.

The first year after Noct’s death, Prompto never laughed. He mourned every day. Started crying or shut down every time someone said anything that upset him. Counted every day walking around, without the only being that he cared about. The only one that ever mattered. Prompto started to lose count of the times he had cried himself to sleep.  
He moved far away, where no one knew who he was, or his past. The anniversary was cloudy. The candles lit for his beloved was well guarded against the wind.

The second year, he stopped counting the days, but the hollowness was still a constant in his days. His old friends grew more distant, they were busy with building a life in the ruins of Insomnia, and had no time for traveling the long distance to Niflheim, where Prompto had moved to. They thought he had stopped mourning, as he did his best to pretend any time they talked. But no matter how many fake laughs and smiles, he never ever truly cared about anything anymore. Nothing mattered, because to him, nothing existed. The ten years of darkness was nothing to the sunny days without his light. The sunny days that would never have a light again. The second anniversary was rainy and he had to use an umbrella to protect the candles on the grave. To protect the light. It was a way for him to feel like he protected the light that he once failed to save. It was never enough.

The third year was in stasis. No one cared to really try to bring him out of the shadows in his mind. The people around the area, where Prompto lived a solitary life, could never understand his darkness. They had their own lives and problems, and a weird person was not wholly accepted, anywhere he went. No one cared.  
So Prompto never cared himself to try to rise up. His routine was his only comfort. He had no one close, never managed to open up. His fake happiness was a thing of the past. People that he met found him distant and unfriendly. The third anniversary was starry, but a little cold. The candles was lit and burned bright. Prompto only wished for his light to return.

During the fourth year, Prompto started to try. He started doing things that used to be very triggering. Sometimes he crumbled to pieces, sometimes he managed to push through. Things happened from time to time, things which brought old memories, and he was unable to stop his tears. He knew that he needed to stop. The fourth anniversary gave a feeling that maybe he could move on, soon.

During the fifth year, in the middle of the summer, Prompto made two new friends. Even though he could never explain his past, he could still laugh and feel some kind of joy. It was such a foreign feeling. They could talk about silly things, and cheer each other up sometimes.  
Many things were still impossible for Prompto to do, both because he never truly dealt with his loss, and because it was so very ingrained in his being. He was nothing without his sorrow. He was empty with his loss, but without it, he’d be nothing at all. He felt like he’d never be able to live without it. 

But. Maybe.

He decided to plan for a move, to see a new place. Not to live, but maybe to not be dead.

The fifth anniversary was….a finality? He decided to change. Even if it hurt so much. He knew that he needed to come to terms with the fact that he’d never ever see Noctis again. He’d never hear his voice. Never see his happy expression. Never argue, never make up. Never smell the very special scent, the one that was his light. Never be greeted, never spend time together. Never again would Noct be the last thing he saw at night, nor the first when waking up.  
It was so hard to finally accept all of that, but in time, maybe the sun would actually rise...


End file.
